


Sailor to a Siren

by Pfain Ryder (Cat_Moon)



Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:27:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Moon/pseuds/Pfain%20Ryder
Summary: Sam's a student at MIT.  His feelings about the military are ambiguous, ever since his brother was killed in action.  When he meets a compelling Navy man, will he be able to put his animosity to rest?  When he finds out Al is keeping secrets from him, it might just tear them apart.





	Sailor to a Siren

**Author's Note:**

> Published in GENESIS, 1996. Genesis was a zine for stories dealing with the early years of Sam and Al, before the project. Original pre-series timeline.

_Like a sailor to a siren_

_Like a moth to flame_

_I know your love might be the death of me_

_But I run to you just the same_

_Like a sailor to a siren_

_Nothin's gonna keep us apart_

_Crashin' over the wreckage _

_Of all the sailors' broken hearts...*_

Sam Beckett leaned back in his chair, reaching for his beer mug and taking a long swallow. The smooth, frosty draft went down easily. He surveyed the packed bar as a king might his kingdom. It was a Friday night, and anyone who didn't have a date was hanging out in _Siren's Song_, the unofficial gathering place of MIT students. He'd been there all evening, and was very nicely tipsy, thank you.

He glanced across the bar for perhaps the fiftieth time, his eyes carefully neutral as he took a moment to watch the lone drinker in the corner booth.

Sam knew the faces of all the regulars; the man was a stranger. And this face he wouldn't have forgotten, even if he hadn't had a photographic memory. He was older than the other patrons, with dark, brooding good looks. He drank whiskey straight with a beer chaser, and spent long pauses staring into his drink. For some inexplicable reason, Sam yearned to know the thoughts keeping lonely vigil inside the man's head, what visions he saw in the bottom of the shot glass.

Chris Parker, Sam's friend and roommate, jabbed him in the ribs and pointed across the bar. "Look over there, it's G-I George," he said mockingly.

Sam looked in the direction his buddy was gesturing. George Deblonsky used to be a fellow student, he'd been in a couple of their classes. "What's he doing here, I thought he was in basic training?"

"Heard he got out a few days ago. He has two weeks before shipping off," Chris replied. They both watched as George made his way down the crowded isle to wedge himself into a spot at the bar.

"Too bad about him," Sam said. "He was a decent guy before he got all military."

"Nah. He was always an asshole," Chris replied. "I loaned him twenty bucks, and it took him three years to pay it back."

"Have you talked to him lately?" Sam wanted to know. "All he talks about is Navy this, and Navy that. I try to be polite, but...he pushes my patience."

"You're a saint anyway. I don't even bother to talk to him."

"Yeah, but you're a displaced hippie. It's not that I'm anti-American--"

"As far as I'm concerned," Chris cut him off to announce loudly, "It's not anti-American to be anti-military. It's anti-American to glorify war and killing. To pretend to be fighting for freedom, while denying the very same. Women, blacks, homosexuals, the military's almost as bad as the Nazi's."

"Let's change the subject," Sam suggested. The scabs were still raw, talking about Vietnam left a bitter taste in his mouth. His brother Tom had been a proud Navy Seal...but Tom was no longer proud.

Tom was dead.

Sam looked up as George pushed his way over to their table. "What was that, Parker?!" he challenged.

"Oh boy..." Sam muttered under his breath. Trouble was brewing, and he couldn't afford to get involved in it. Not after what had happened at Cal Tech...

It was right after Tom's death, and he'd been sullen and angry at the world. It led him to get entangled in things he wouldn't have otherwise. Lots of things... But it was the streaking incident that had gotten him expelled--thankfully. If they'd found out about the other things...

"He didn't say anything," Sam interjected swiftly.

"I heard him!"

"Then why'd you ask?" Chris retorted like a belligerent drunk spoiling for a fight.

George gave Chris a shove. "People like you make me sick. With the American flag on your butt, and Commie ideas in your head."

Chris shrugged. "At least I haven't been brainwashed by Big Brother. They own you, buddy. Your life--and death--is at their disposal."

Sam tried to fight against it, but felt himself slipping into the unreasoning anger he tried to keep at bay. Chris's words--and the booze--ignited feelings that were never far from the surface. If the other two started something, he knew it would be him to finish it. "Just take off, huh George? Before you're sorry." A last ditch attempt to avoid the inevitable. He took a deep breath and prayed the man would back off.

It didn't take long for the other shoe to drop, and it was a doozy.

"You're worse, Beckett," George snarled. "Your own brother died defending his country, and you're nothing but a coward who's shamed his brother with disrespect!"

Sam lunged, knocking over his chair and glass of beer in the process. In the haze of red, his single-minded thought was to get his hands around George's neck.

They struggled, and for one, glorious moment, Sam knew his goal. Then he was being pulled off, dragged over and forcibly seated in his chair again.

Sam looked up at the person who'd spoiled his plans...and was staring at the mysterious whiskey drinker. He was impressed; the man wasn't very big and he'd put away quite a few shots...yet he'd managed to break up the fight single-handed.

"Shove off!" the man told George. Commanded, was a better word for it. Sam shivered. A voice like that could bend his will like a sapling, if it so desired.

George apparently wasn't inclined to cross the man. "Uh...yes, sir!" He scrambled to his feet and disappeared out the door.

Sam remained in his seat, gaping up at the man.

"You always go around getting involved in other people's fights, mister?" Chris asked, with an affable grin to show he meant no offense.

The man shrugged. "I don't like fighting around me when I'm doing some serious drinking. Breaks my concentration. Besides, I hate the sight of blood."

"But a good fight really gets the adrenaline pumping...don't it, Sam?" Chris asked.

Sam didn't feel capable of an answer, for some strange reason.

"There's better ways to do it than that...although they do involved pumping," the man said with a conspiratorial wink.

"I should be so lucky," Chris chuckled and drained his beer. "I wouldn't be here."

Things were moving in slow motion, Sam thought, wondering if George had gotten a few punches in after all. "He deserved it," he finally spoke, defending himself without knowing why.

The stranger looked at him. Sam waited for him to speak, but he glanced around instead. Following his gaze, Sam saw the bartender talking to the bouncer--meaningfully.

The man hauled him up by the collar. "I think you need some fresh air, and it looks like they're about to throw you out anyway."

It wasn't fair, he wasn't the one who'd picked the fight. But Sam found he didn't much care, as he followed the stranger out the door. Once in the street, he fell into step beside the man, although he didn't know whether he was expected to or not. His mind shied away from the knowledge that he hoped so.

Sam started to speak, had to clear his throat and start again. "Thanks. I can't afford to get into trouble right now."

"I assume that means he started it?"

"Absolutely," he said, and found himself sharing a smile with the man. He decided to take advantage of opportunity. "My name is Sam Beckett."

"Al Calavicci," he extended his hand, and Sam grasped it for a moment.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

"San Diego," the man said shortly.

"You're a long way from home."

An odd look passed over Al's face for a moment. "I guess you could say that. I'm starting classes at MIT next week."

"What's your major?"

"Physics."

"You're kidding? Mine, too. Is this your first time in college?"

"I got a degree in engineering, a long time ago."

"Is that what you were doing before?"

"Do you always ask this many questions, kid? No wonder you don't have a date on Friday night."

"Sorry." Sam waited, hoping his apparent faux pas wouldn't get him dismissed.

"Well, if we're gonna do all this yapping, we'd better make sure we keep the vocal chords lubricated. Wanna get something to drink?" Al asked.

"Sure," Sam replied sincerely. With the unknown that lay ahead exerting a powerful pull, he didn't think twice.

XXX

The next thing Sam knew, they were driving out of the city in Calavicci's old, beat up Ford Torino. The wind through the open window sobered him somewhat, and he watched the darkened scenery flash by, wondering if he was again repeating old habits.

He pondered this as his companion pulled the car off the road and got out, leading the way down a wooded path until they came upon a small stream.

Sam and his friends would often buy some liquor and find a remote place to party in, but rarely did two strangers who'd just met head off for deserted spots... Sam shook himself. He was letting his imagination run wild.

Sam watched Al spread out the blanket from the trunk and flop down. He tentatively joined his enigmatic companion, careful not to sit too close. "Not bad," he said, surveying his surroundings. "Peaceful."

"Stumbled over it when some chick and I were looking for a secluded spot. I grew up in a city, I guess that's why I like to come here. I guess you could say I really appreciate variation."

Was there a deeper meaning beneath the words? Naw. Sam accepted the bottle of whiskey and took a small sip. He involuntarily made a face.

Al laughed. "Strictly a beer man, aren't you?"

"I prefer Vodka." Defiantly, Sam grabbed the bottle and took a bigger mouthful.

"Stubborn, and can't resist a challenge, either," Al concluded in amusement. "You're as clear as glass, kid. A person shouldn't be so clear," he added, his mood turning reflective suddenly.

"Why?" Sam asked, opening one of the beers.

"Because...just because. I heard the argument," he said, changing the subject. "You lost your brother in 'Nam?"

Sam looked away. Would it ever get easy to talk about? "Yeah."

"That's rough. I had a lot of friends that didn't make it back. It's a hard thing to live with."

"Yeah," Sam whispered. He thought back to George in the bar, wearing his know-it-all, arrogant stupidity like some crown of honor. In his immature mind, it was some great adventure to serve your country, a stroll in the park to kill other human beings. Sam pitied him like he would a dumb animal. Reality would hit eventually, and it wouldn't be kind. "You should have let me pound him into C-rations," he said with feeling. "He deserved it."

"You didn't fight him because he deserved it," Al said. "You did it because he struck a nerve. Because a part of you thinks he's right." Sam opened his mouth to deny the uncomfortable words, but didn't get the chance. "He wasn't, Sam. They call it survivor's guilt. If I were your brother, I'd want you just where you are--safe. Forget George, but remember this, there's assholes everywhere."

"Yeah, but the military trains 'em to be assholes."

"Maybe."

Calavicci was the right age, healthy, just returning to college... the probability was high that he hadn't avoided the draft. It would explain a lot of things. "You were over there, weren't you?"

"Yeah, but that's a taboo subject. I don't talk about it, so don't ask." Al paused to take another slug of booze. "What outfit was your brother in?"

"Navy Seals. A goddamn Lieutenant. He wasn't even drafted--he _chose_ to go die." Sam choked on the emotion, knowing he should be ashamed for revealing so much to a complete stranger, yet oddly compelled to do so. Maybe it was because he'd hardly ever spoken of these things at all. Sometimes baring your soul was easier to an understanding stranger.

"He was doing what he believed in," Al said gently. "Just like you have to do...like we all do."

"Not everyone," Sam argued, fueled by anger towards the man who'd destroyed his fragile balance with ignorant comments. "George joined up because he was flunking out. His parents would have cut him off, and he'd be working at a burger joint. He doesn't believe in what he's doing. Maybe if he did, I could respect him. He just wants to make money and feel important."

"Forget him, people like him need to make others feel like losers to reinforce their own overblown image of themselves. You're not a loser."

"How do you know?" Sam challenged.

Al pointed, almost touching the place under his left eye with a finger. "I can see greatness in your eyes."

"You're crazy."

"I suppose I am, a little," Al agreed. "Sorry...I get obnoxiously full of philosophical wisdom when I drink."

"You're full of something, all right," Sam quipped, taking the proffered bottle. It was starting to go down easier.

"Well, let me know when you decide what it is."

Sam realized he really liked this drinking buddy. Relaxing, he laid down on his back, looking up at the stars that he could see through the tree branches. That and the booze continued to loosen his tongue. "All we've been doing is talking about me. You could tell me something about yourself, instead of playing the dark, handsome, mysterious stranger." He sat up again abruptly, realizing his inappropriate choice of wording. Would it be perceived as a come on? The next question--was it one?

"What and spoil the image? I know when I've got a good thing going."

"Do you really?" Sam heard himself say. _Guess that answers my own question._

"More than you know. I didn't get to be this old without having been around. I've seen my share of action."

Sam knew he was probably reading more into the situation than there was--and that even if he was right, the wise thing would be not to let it go beyond this point. But sometimes foresight wasn't any better than hindsight. "You couldn't prove it by me, so far all I've heard is a lot of talking," he said boldly.

Al leaned towards him. "Maybe I wanna do more than just talk..."

Sam was frozen by the words, drawn like a moth to a porch light. Enough of his barely acknowledged desire must have shown in his face; the light came closer, blinding him as lips claimed his with a man's possessiveness.

Sam leaned back as Al's body covered his. The addiction reared its ugly head, and he was consumed. For long moments, he knew nirvana...then, as abruptly as it had begun, the sensations ceased.

Al moved away. "I can't..." he mumbled, averting his gaze. "Not like this."

"Please god, don't tell me you're straight."

"I don't know what I am right now," Al answered, sounding a lot soberer than he had before. "I guess I owe you some kind of explanation."

"No," Sam said. "You don't owe me any, but I'm a good listener and I'd like to hear."

"I..." Al sighed and started over. "Once upon a time I fell in love with a beautiful woman and got married. It was like a fairy tale come true for someone who came from the kind of background I did. Then I went to 'Nam and did a few years as a POW. When I finally came home, I had no home anymore. She'd had me declared dead, remarried and disappeared. Every day in that cage I hung on to the thought of her waiting for me. But she wasn't."

Sam winced in sympathy. Like Tom for him, this was obviously still a very painful subject for Al. "I'm sorry."

"I got married again, but it only lasted two months. That attempt was enough to make me swear off for awhile. I guess I have trouble dealing with women right now. I've had some experience with men, at various times in my life." He took a long swig of whiskey, grimacing. "Ah hell, my old lady took off on me when I was five, it's becoming a pattern. I guess I been wondering if life ain't trying to tell me something."

Sam's affinity with the man grew. They both lived with the pain and anguish the war caused. Sadly, it was just another of the same old story. His hatred for the military and all it stood for doubled.

"My brother...I know where you're coming from, believe me," he murmured, laying a careful hand on the man's arm. He didn't want to scare him off. "Sometimes I wonder if it's ever going to get any easier."

"Me, too," Al said quietly.

They shared the pain in silence for a few minutes, until Sam's mind and body reminded him of other, unfinished business. "But that doesn't tell me why you stopped," he reminded gently.

"I'm not gay--I mean, I know that much, even if I have sometimes... It just seems so...like how you hear about men getting each other off in movie theaters and men's rooms."

"You mean you've never fooled around with a woman at the movies, or got off on the thrill of a quickie somewhere only semi-private?"

"Sure, but it's different with men."

"Yes it is," Sam said softly, but for different reasons altogether.

"I mean...at least I knew the women I was with. Not like faceless strangers sucking each other off behind the bushes." His face mirrored how distasteful he found this.

Sam, who'd been called a prude in his time, was inclined to agree with Al. However, there were exceptions to every rule. After thinking it over, he extended his hand, smiling slightly. "I'm Sam Beckett."

Hesitating only a moment, Al smiled back and took the offered hand. "I'm Al Calavicci. Look--I'm sorry," he suddenly interjected. "I didn't mean to imply anything about you. I know you're not like that. And even if you were, it's your business...I'm not doing real well in the tact department, am I?"

"I've only been with a couple of men," Sam told him. "And I don't sleep with them unless," his voice lowered, "unless I feel a certain connection." He paused. "I'm not really sure where I stand in regards to sexual orientation, either."

"I guess we could try and help each other figure it out," Al suggested speculatively. He reached out hesitantly, and Sam moved closer, arms settling around his waist.

Tentatively, they began to touch each other, slowly rebuilding the passion that had seeped away from them earlier.

There was something else Sam was curious about. "You never told me why you _started_," he asked, while unbuttoning his companion's shirt.

"I thought I could be like that," Al answered. "I...there was something about you that I... You turn me on," he finally finished, reaching over to kiss Sam again.

"We're not strangers," Sam murmured between kisses, desperate for the words to make it so. "The things we've talked about...we know each other better than some friends."

"You really do talk too much," Al complained, pulling Sam down to the ground with him.

There it was again, that figurative shot of heroin that went straight to Sam's nervous system and short-circuited it. He lay there in his glory, content with the power above him, yet by no means passive in the coupling. He struggled to get out of his remaining clothes, eager to feel the naked man's body against his.

Drowning in sweaty, firm muscles, and the scent of male in the height of arousal, Sam grabbed fistfuls of flesh, groping in an increasing frenzy. He wanted it, he needed it. It had been so long, and his body was craving this contact. What he'd told Al was true; he didn't sleep with just any man. It had to feel right. And nothing could have prepared him for how right it felt with this particular man.

Sure of himself and his role, Sam reached down to grasp Al's cock. He made no attempt to initiate fellatio. He might not have been with very many men, but he'd soon learned what to expect. You could spot a mostly straight guy by the almost tentative way he made love to the male body. Unlike the gays that he knew, who tended to be avid aficionados, they often shied away from oral sex. He had no desire to make Al uncomfortable.

Al's hand, which had been pumping Sam's cock, moved to fondle his balls roughly. Sam moaned, throwing his head back. A wet tongue took advantage of the access, leaving a trail as it made its way to his ear. He shivered in anticipation, the area under his ear was extremely sensitive to touch. He moaned again, grabbing Al's ass and pulling their groins together.

They rocked back and forth, grunting with the effort of providing the increasing friction they needed. The pleasure built. Dimly, Sam heard Al cry out, felt a wetness against his skin. Then, without warning, the tide of passion came and went, carrying Sam away with it.

XXX

Sam woke, groaning softly when consciousness brought with it all the symptoms of a hangover. He blinked twice as he realized that the events of the previous night were real and not a figment of some drunken dream.

The proof was abundant. His surroundings weren't the familiar cramped apartment he shared with Chris. It wasn't his own bed he'd woken up in. And he was sharing this one with a naked man whose state of undress mirrored his own.

He didn't quite remember going home with Al, but he could recall the earlier part of the evening all too clearly. In fact, just thinking about it was giving him that vague itchy feeling in his midsection.

Sam banished the thoughts in favor of concentrating on his body's more pressing needs, mainly relieving the fullness in his bladder. He eased out of bed carefully so as not to wake the man beside him, and stood glancing around the room. A half-open door looked promising as a potential bathroom, so he headed for it.

After using the facilities, Sam returned to the bedroom. His curiosity niggling at him, he took a peek at what he could see of the rest of the apartment from the partially open bedroom door. It was indeed bigger than his, but more sparsely furnished. While he and Chris were always tripping over something, Al seemed to possess very little personal belongings beyond the bare necessities.

The bed, he noticed, was king-sized and plush, with lots of pillows, and brown satin sheets.

_I like a man who knows his priorities. _ Grinning, Sam climbed back into bed.

This time the movement roused Al. He shifted and opened his eyes, gaze fixing on his bed partner. Sam's grin faded as he wondered how awkward this morning-after was going to be.

"'Morning," Al croaked in a sleep-roughened voice.

"Good morning," he answered quietly.

A touch of uncertainty appeared on Al's face. "You do remember last night, I hope?"

"Everything except coming back here."

"You didn't miss much; we staggered in, fell on the bed and passed out, near as I can recollect. The good stuff came before." A hint of a warm smile played on his lips, making Sam long to kiss them. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how to make the first move. He hadn't had much practice at that, it was usually the other way around.

"Do you have an aversion to morning breath?" Al asked.

"Uh, no..." Sam said, missing the non-sequitur.

"Good." With that, Al proved he had no problems making the first move himself.

Sam sighed in contentment and snuggled closer, melting into the warm, morning arms.

"Now that that's over with," Al began. "Last night was great,"

Sam stiffened and tried to pull away. He knew what word came next--_but_.

The arms around him held firm. "Hear me out." The tone was complacent in knowing it would be obeyed. "I like you a lot, Sam. Even though we only met last night, I almost feel as if I've known you for years. I enjoyed what he did, enough to want to continue it. But even more important than that...I'd like us to be friends."

Sam smiled faintly. "No catch?" he asked.

Al sighed. "I didn't say that. I...I couldn't afford to get caught at this."

"Neither can I," Sam hastened to assure him. "Believe me..." He had to let Al know he wouldn't be a problem, that they both wanted the same things. "I have to be on my best behavior here, I was expelled from Cal Tech."

"For this?"

"No, for streaking."

"Streaking?" Al echoed in amazement.

Sam took a deep breath, prepared to tell this man everything. Anything, to keep him around. "It was right after my brother died. I couldn't deal with it, I was angry, hurt. I got kinda wild. I joined a couple of friends and streaked the ROTC with the American flag painted on my butt. I got caught."

"I would have loved to have seen that," Al chuckled, patting Sam's ass fondly.

The rest, all of it flowed like a waterfall. "My father wasn't too thrilled though. I...I let him down," Sam said in a low voice. "He took out a loan on the farm to get me back in school, to pay for whatever the grants and scholarships wouldn't cover. I left home again, this time for medical school. Then the bank foreclosed, and they lost the farm. Dad never got over it, between that and losing Tom. He...died of a heart attack a year later. Fat lot of good my going to med school did, I wasn't even there when he died!"

Al drew him close, stroking his hair in comfort and encouragement. "It wasn't your fault."

"Mom wanted me to use the insurance money to continue with school, but I'd lost heart with medicine. Then I ran into the MIT physics professor who'd been trying to recruit me while I was still in high school. I was pretty vulnerable, I guess. He...convinced me to enroll here. He worked with me on some pet theories of mine, really helped me along. I got my head together--at least partially, and finally realized that quantum physics is where I really wanted to be all along."

"An MIT professor going out of his way to recruit you? Either you're one of those child prodigies, or..." The 'or' was a dark foreboding.

Sam shrugged self-consciously. "Both. It didn't last long though, he likes...younger boys. I was already over the hill."

"Would you tell me this professor's name?"

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

"Not to me, he wouldn't give an old codger like me a second glance."

Sam beamed at him. "I think you're wonderful."

When he was young, it had been written off as adolescent crushes. Natural for preteen boys to develop cases of intense hero worship. Only for Sam, it had grown into much more. He didn't know why, and he didn't care to psychoanalyze himself. It gave him pleasure and unsurpassed emotional fulfillment. That's all that mattered.

_Except..._

He sometimes felt it could be much more. That complete fulfillment and some hidden knowledge was just out of reach. He knew it was ridiculous, they'd only just met...but he couldn't help wondering if this mysterious stranger could provide the missing parts.

"Are you hungry?" Al asked abruptly.

"What are you offering?"

"First one, then the other," he smiled suggestively.

"Do you have a strong preference as to which comes first?" Sam asked and moved closer, needing to banish yesterday's memories with today's loving.

"Guess."

XXX

It was a gray, overcast day. Al stared out the classroom window, watching the droplets of rain as they dripped down from a broken gutter. Several times now he'd tried to force his attention back to the professor, but had failed. Finally, he'd given up. Sam could always coach him later, if he needed it.

Sam. The subject of too many of his distracted thoughts lately.

A part of him was amazed at the predicament he'd gotten himself into. It almost could have been a classic whirlwind romance. They'd met, screwed, and now, two weeks later, Sam had moved in with him. Despite his concern about keeping the relationship hidden, he'd actually agreed wholeheartedly with Sam's logical reassurances. They were both on limited budgets, and having a roommate was nothing unusual for college students. Conveniently, Sam's former roommate wanted his girlfriend to live with him, leaving Sam--naturally--to move in with his 'best friend'.

_Natural. _ Well, he wouldn't know about that, since he'd never lived with another man before. Never even had a long-term relationship with one. He'd had two marriages, but he didn't know if the situations had anything in common or not. With his wives, he'd been expected to account for his whereabouts at all times, freedom in a broad sense was limited. On the other hand, when you told your wife you were going out with the guys, it was a whole different matter. If you were going out with some pals, your best friend kind of expected to be included.

Sam would never demand the kind of leash a wife did, Al knew even from his short time with the man. The real problem (one of them anyway...there were others...) was that he wasn't sure he'd be able to disappear for an entire night on a regular basis. And if he couldn't do that, how was he supposed to keep the extent of his drinking secret?

Sam could usually be counted on to party with him on the weekends, but Al needed the solitude to indulge in the mind-numbing stupor he craved. He couldn't have made a good first impression, yet Sam had never brought it up, and something inside drove him to put forth a sterling image. Maybe it was the way the kid looked at him sometimes. Made him feel like he had to set a good example, live up to some overblown, super hero image the kid had of him. A dangerous, maybe even sick game to play. But truth be told, he was playing a worse one. And it had burdened him with a guilt complex big enough to choke a horse. It was only a matter of time before Sam caught on--or found out about the other nasty he was keeping from him.

Al never expected things to happen as quickly as they had...or as intensely. In the beginning there never seemed to be the right moment, and then he was afraid of losing something that he didn't even want to admit he needed. One day, he knew he would lose it.

So he continued to drink. And to lie. No point in rushing the inevitable.

He thought of his life with Beth; how happy he'd been. The trouble there was he hadn't known until he lost it. This time, he knew. Sam was warm, loving, a terrific friend... He'd always fallen in love fast, and this was no exception. He tried to console himself with the fact that at least this time he knew the end was coming. It wouldn't be sprung on him without warning. Somehow, knowing didn't help.

Al glanced at the clock, grateful to see that class was almost over. He needed to stop for a drink on the way home. Dragging his mind back to try and catch the gist of what was going on around him, he looked around the room.

One of the students, a young blond named Tim, was asking Professor Lonnegro a question about a formula. The professor went over to Tim's desk to look over his notes. Al watched with a vague uneasy feeling, as he bent close, hand lightly resting on the kid's shoulder as he explained his mistake to him. Something about it disturbed Al...

And then he knew what it was.

After their first night together, Sam had told Al of a quantum physics professor at MIT that had taken advantage of his precarious emotional state to seduce him. Well, he hadn't phrased it exactly that way, but that's what it came down to.

Was Lonnegro the one?

Al tried to shrug it off, but couldn't. When he thought about it, he remembered Lonnegro spending more time at Tim's side than anyone else in class. Calling on him more. Letting his eyes stray in that direction frequently. Maybe he was only encouraging an exceptional mind...

Maybe.

XXX

Al let himself into the apartment, wondering if Sam was at home or at the library. He wasn't sure which he'd prefer. If Sam was hitting the books, he wouldn't be home until late, and Al didn't relish having all that time on his hands.

The object of his wondering was sitting on the couch, sorting through the pile of papers on the coffee table. "Hey Sam, what's up?" Sam looked up and smiled at him, with both a touch of shyness and a twinkle of innuendo. A familiar warmth spread through Al's body, and he decided he was very glad Sam was home.

"Nothing...yet." He studiously returned to sorting the papers.

Al flopped down next to him. "Need any help in that area?"

"As a matter of--Al, what's this?" he asked in a puzzled tone, holding up a thin strip of paper.

With a silent curse, Al recognized it as his most recent test. He'd tiptoed in the night before, not wanting to wake Sam and have him discover how late it was--or how drunk Al was. Unfortunately, he'd been too preoccupied to stash it where it wouldn't be found.

In an attempt to distract Sam, he leaned close to ostentatiously see what he was referring to--very close. "It's uh, my physics test."

"I know that. D? I thought you knew this stuff backwards and forwards. I helped you study."

Obviously seduction wasn't going to work. Sam could be like a dog with a bone sometimes. "What are you, my mother? Am I grounded now?"

Sam frowned reproachfully. "I'm not getting on your case, I'm just surprised."

"Yeah, well, I guess I was...distracted."

"Distracted?" Sam repeated, still looking at the piece of paper. "Why would you be..." his voice trailed off, the expression on his face one of uncertain certainty. "It didn't have anything to do with the fact that you know I had a relationship with one of the physics professors, did it?"

No use lying when caught, his marriages had taught him that. "I...okay, maybe. Was it him?" he asked bluntly.

Sam sighed. "I told you, that doesn't matter," he said gently. "It's over and done with." He gazed at Al speculatively, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Are you jealous?" he queried, moving closer.

"Maybe," he dissembled. It was partially the truth, although he hated to admit it. Besides, even if he'd wanted to tell Sam the whole truth of why it bothered him, he wouldn't have been able to put it into words anyway. "Maybe I need some reassurance," he murmured, slipping his arms around his lover. Closing the subject.

XXX

It had been a bad week. First of all, he hadn't had more than a few beers since the night before Sam found the physics test. He was trying to tow the line, as if that would somehow make everything okay. He didn't want to hurt Sam. Couldn't hurt Sam.

That didn't take away from the fact that he was going to hurt Sam.

And it was going to be soon, because he knew he couldn't live like this for a couple of years. It was tearing him apart.

In self defense, his mind was always searching for other things to focus on. He made himself listen as Lonnegro wrapped up the day's session, summarizing the theory behind the equation on the board. Watched as the man let his eyes stray in Tim's direction, too often for his liking.

Lonnegro was the one. A casual conversation with Chris Parker revealed that he had indeed been Sam's mentor. Chris simply thought it a little odd that Sam no longer associated with the man. Al knew why.

The professor dismissed the class, with an offhand request for Tim to stay after to 'talk' about his work. Al left with the rest of the class, but found himself pausing outside the door.

Why did it bother him so much not only to know he and Sam had been involved in the past, but to watch him put the moves on Tim? Possibly because Lonnegro was taking advantage of impressionable youth... Hah! Al was guilty of that himself, wasn't he? And a lot more.

It was still wrong. Sam was already warped when Al had gotten him. But Tim...he deserved to make his own choices in life without being coerced or manipulated.

And maybe, it might help assuage the guilt.

Al very deliberately opened the classroom door, bracing himself. He didn't know what he'd expected to find; after all, it was a school room. Teacher and student were both bent over a book. They looked up at his entrance.

"Uh, can I talk to you for a minute, Professor? It's very important."

He nodded, but Al didn't miss the hint of irritation flash for just a second. He smiled convincingly. "Of course. We'll discuss this in detail later, okay?" he told Tim.

"I'd like that, Professor Lonnegro." Tim grabbed his books and left.

"What can I do for you?" Lonnegro asked. "If it's about that last test, we both know you should have done a damn sight better."

"No, it's not about the test." Al took a deep breath. If there was any way to ease tactfully into what he had to say, he didn't know about it. "I was just wondering if Tim realizes what kind of _help_ you have in mind to give him."

The smile he received was tight. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I know about you and your extra curricular activities with young boys. I don't suppose the school board would be too thrilled to find out, though."

"You're crazy--" Lonngero began.

"I have nothing against your being homosexual. But when you take young, impressionable kids, who look up to and respect you--and use that to coax them into something that can affect the rest of their lives, maybe scar them--"

"You seem very sure of your accusations," the professor said, obviously trying to gauge Al's threat. He was sweating.

"Perfectly. So if I were you, I'd stay away from Tim. In fact, I don't want to see you look sideways at any of these kids." Having said all he'd come to, Al turned and left.

When he was outside again, his legs turned to jello. Lonnegro was right, he was crazy. _What have I done?? _ He wasn't in any position to threaten anyone. If Lonnegro started looking closely at his life, he'd realized Sam was his roommate. He could conceivably guess at their true relationship.

On the other hand, the Professor might feel free of the implied threat, but he still wouldn't risk his own neck by exposing them.

Would he?

Risking his own career was one thing; it was something he'd made a hobby out of. But risking the brilliant future Sam had in front of him before it even got started, was...

Instead of heading to his next class, Al left the building. What he needed right now, was a stop at Siren's Song.

XXX

The phone was ringing as Sam opened the door, and he almost dropped the grocery bags in his haste to answer it. He kicked the door shut with his foot, and said a breathless hello into the receiver.

"Sam? Hi. Guess who this is?!"

Sam frowned. "George?" he asked incredulously, wishing he'd taken his time after all. For George to call it meant he wanted something, whether it be a favor, information, or simply to brag.

"How's it going?"

"Okay," Sam answered non-committal. "Same old thing. With you?"

"Great, great. The weather here in San Diego is terrific, I've already been promoted, and my superior says it won't be long before I make it to Top Gun. This is the best move I've ever made."

_Yeah, right._ "That's good."

"I hear you moved out of Chris's?"

_Obviously, since you knew how to reach me. _"Yeah, his girlfriend wanted to move in."

"Yeah, he told me when he gave me your new number."

_ Remind me to have it changed._

"I gotta admit though, I was surprised by your choice of new roommate. I didn't think the two of you would have one thing in common."

"You'd be surprised." Sam smirked, thinking of the night before, sharing a private joke with himself.

"Well, maybe I did misjudge you...I just never thought I'd see the day when Mr. Anti-Military would be roomies with a Navy captain."

_Navy captain. _ The bottom dropped out from under Sam abruptly. "What?" he croaked, as the waves of betrayal washed over him. His voice seemed to come to him from a great distance, muffled by a loud roaring. It had to be a mistake...had to.

"Didn't you know?" George asked, sounding like he'd been hoping Sam hadn't. "Captain Calavicci, USN. Hellava pilot, from what I've heard. He volunteered for a second tour of duty in 'Nam, had his plane shot down and spent five years as a POW. He's at the college on a sabbatical. That man is an inspiration to us all. A real hero," he added, filling Sam in on all the gory details. But he had stopped listening.

Absently, Sam hung up.

He stumbled over to the couch and collapsed, arms folded over his stomach. He felt like he'd been gut-punched. There was no question of not believing George. He wasn't a sterling human being, but he was sneaky. He never lied out-right, not when he was sure to be caught easily.

Al, on the other hand...

XXX

Fumbling with the key, Al finally got his door unlocked and slipped inside. The apartment was dark. No one had answered the phone earlier either, he wondered where his roommate was. Stumbling slightly, he figured it was a good thing Sam wasn't there, considering his condition at the moment. A hot shower and some strong coffee...

As Al turned on the light, he saw the figure sitting on the couch. "Sam? What're you doin' sittin' in the dark?" he asked, careful to keep his voice slur-free.

To Al's bewilderment, Sam got up to turn off the light again. "I can smell you from over here," he said in a flat voice. "Did you have a good time, Captain Calavicci?"

All of the blood in his body sunk to his feet. Suddenly, Al felt very sober. "How did you find out?" This time his voice did come out uneven.

"It's true." The words held indescribable pain and desolation.

"I'm sorry," he managed, resigned.

"You knew how I felt about the military. You let me believe you agreed with me, when all this time... My brother was in the Navy. My brother's dead, and you lied to me!!"

In the light from the window, Al could just about make out his features. He was glad Sam had turned out the light.

"It was all a lie. Every bit of it. I thought we had something, I thought..." Sam broke off. "I'll be going now," he said mechanically, starting for the door.

Al felt like he'd just been jolted out of a deep sleep. He'd spent hours at a bar drinking, he was in no condition to handle something like this...but he had to. He suddenly knew how important this relationship was to him, that he couldn't let it go. Galvanized into action, he got between Sam and the door.

"Sam--wait! I know what I did was wrong. I can't excuse my actions, but I didn't want to hurt you. Please believe me. I wanted to tell you, but I was scared. I knew you'd walk out as soon as you knew, and I couldn't...I knew I couldn't stand it if you left." He grasped Sam's shoulders, feeling the trembling beneath his hands. "I hated myself every day."

"You..." Sam began in a shaky voice.

Al forced Sam onto the couch, not letting go of him. He could feel Sam's pain and his, mingling and reverberating through his entire being. "I did it because I love you," he said, chagrined to find tears in his eyes. He'd never cried in front of anyone before.

Sam caved in, arms going around Al with a vise grip. They clung to each other desperately.

"I'm sorry," Al whispered, rocking them back and forth.

"I know you are," Sam said, sounding a little more calm. "But...I don't think I can...be with someone whose beliefs are so different from my own."

And he couldn't live with the fear, Al knew. Never knowing when the Navy was going to send his lover away, terrified he'd never come back. The lonely waiting... _My God, that's what I put Beth through..._ Al realized.

Amazingly, he'd managed to make it through twenty years in the Navy with his integrity intact. Without being a hypocrite. Now, he'd be serving an organization which would condemn him if it knew of the love that burned within him. His salvation, his second chance.

And he saw crystal clear what his life would be like if Sam left him.

"I'll retire," he blurted out.

"What?" Sam was very still, looking at him.

"I'll leave the Navy," he repeated, his voice not quite steady. The step he was taking was a terrifying one.

"You're serious? You'd really do that for me?"

Al shook his head. "For us. It scares the hell out of me, the Navy was my lifeline. It got me out of an orphanage, gave me a home. I don't know anything else. But I lost Beth because of the Navy. I won't lose you, too."

Sam sighed. "I remember what you told me the night we met. About everyone having to do what they believe in. I don't know if I can let you do that."

Al grabbed his shoulders hard enough to get a wince. "Don't you understand? I was falling apart! I'm one step away from being an alcoholic." He lowered his voice. "I don't much like what I've turned into. I'm not proud of it, and I was afraid that would make you run too. I can't do it anymore because I don't believe in it anymore. I think that was part of my problems."

"You don't believe in the Navy anymore?" Sam asked, as if needing to be very certain.

"God no. Even if...no matter what happens between us, I won't go back," Al found himself saying with certainty. "But if you love me...we've got to work this out!" he implored. "You're my only chance now."

Sam swallowed. "Is that why?"

Al shook his head, leaning forward until his lips almost met Sam's. "I love you," he breathed against the lips, then kissed them.

"I love you too," Sam sighed. "You don't have to be afraid," he murmured, caressing Al's face. "We can make it...together."

"Promise," he demanded softly.

"I promise," Sam vowed, drawing him nearer.

XXX

EPILOGUE:

Al stepped away from the window and its view of the desert beyond, and sat down on the love-seat. Aptly named, and rightly christened by an impish Sam, when they'd bought it ten years ago. He didn't know why the old memories had come to him so vividly tonight...maybe it was because he needed something to keep him company besides the bottle he'd been contemplating earlier.

Al wondered if the story had a happy ending. It had seemed so, once. He'd actually ended up staying in the service for awhile after all, but with Sam's blessing. After graduating, Sam had gone to work for NASA, combining his expertise in physics and computers to create a number of innovative designs for them. There was a lot he hated about the military, but he wholeheartedly believed in space exploration. It was his idea for Al to join the space program and become an astronaut.

After a successful mission and an experience he'd never forget, Al retired and devoted himself to science. The Cause, as it were. The rest of course, is history. He and Sam took their show on the road, campaigning for private funds for their proposed project. Quantum Leap.

Speaking of which, he wearily remembered, he was due to call the foundation and update them on Sam's situation. If he forgot, they'd be on his case in a second. It was annoying, true, but he had to admit that Sam was right about one thing--it would have been a lot worse if the project had belonged to the government. A small price to pay for freedom.

It took awhile, but they'd done it, together. They'd have to get through this together, too. Al sighed, picking up the phone. First the call to the foundation. Weitzman, Bartlett and St. John would probably want to call another emergency meeting. Then, into the Imaging Chamber to tell Sam he had to learn how to fly the X-2.

Somehow, they'd make it through this, too. Together.

**THE END.**

5/9/94

**Author's Note:**

> Submitted as a possible view of that mysterious ORIGINAL timeline that we saw for one and a half episodes. Where Al seemed to answer to the 'foundation', rather than the government. How Sam changed that aspect of the project--as well as Al's career--by marrying Donna (or by breaking in at Watergate??) is anyone's guess.
> 
> * Sailor to a Siren; music by Paul Jacobs, lyrics by Sarah Durkee, performed by Meatloaf.


End file.
